


In Which Peter Has No Self-Preservation Instincts and Natasha Is A Certified Badass

by Scotty1609



Series: Hey, Kid! (Or How the Avengers Unwittingly Adopted Spiderman) [7]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Baby Spider Peter Parker, Bruce Banner & Natasha Romanov Friendship, But only a little, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Identity Reveal, Implied Relationships, Mama spider Natasha Romanov, Minor Bruce Banner/Natasha Romanov, Natasha Romanov Knows All, Natasha Romanov is Mama Spider, Orphan Peter Parker, Overdosing, Peter Parker Angst, Peter Parker Has No Self-Preservation Instincts, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker is a Mess, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Natasha Romanov, Spider-Man Identity Reveal, Stabbing, accidental overdosing, stab wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 09:37:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18280508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scotty1609/pseuds/Scotty1609
Summary: When Natasha went out to buy cough drops for a sick Clint, she didn't expect to end the night like this: with an armful of puking, stab-wounded, overdosing teenager. And then, when she realizes just who this kid ruining her night and bad-ass/don't-give-a-shit persona is, Natasha figures she might need a bit of help...Enter stage right, Dr. Bruce Banner!!





	In Which Peter Has No Self-Preservation Instincts and Natasha Is A Certified Badass

**Author's Note:**

> ....soooooo I'm back? Kind of?
> 
> I was flipping through some comments I've gotten on this series, and I was suddenly struck by the overwhelming need to write some Mama!Spider Natasha Romanov. So here we are, with a smol Peter Parker who has no self-preservation instincts, and some protective but exasperated super-spy Natasha Romanov.
> 
> I'm tossing around plans for a Rhodey fic I guess? I'm trying to build up the suspense to Peter meeting Tony (if you couldn't tell before). I might also add on a side-story about everyone realizing they know Peter ((and going all 'wtf how do you know him/ no how do YOU know him??)) just for shits and giggles.
> 
> Just as all of my fics are, this one is un-edited. I might eventually go back and edit this whole series when I have time/feel up to it, but.... don't count on it.
> 
> WARNINGS: stab wounds, vomit, accidental overdosing of painkillers, and mentions of child neglect and past character deaths... get ready for a whirlwind of angst, people!

There was no month that Natasha hated more than January. It wasn't the month's fault, per say, but rather _Clint's_ fault. For being somebody who dealt with sharp, pointy objects on the daily, Clint had a terrible fear of needles. He absolutely refused to get any shots that he didn't have to, and more often than not, another Avenger had to hold him down when he was injured and required an IV. That, or Natasha would get fed up with him and pinch a nerve in his neck to make him pass out. So, whenever flu season came around and Bruce went about giving all of human Avengers their flu shots, Clint was always nowhere to be found. And as such, he got the flu.

Every. Single. Year.

And every single January that Clint got sick, Natasha swore up and down to herself that she wasn't going to give in to Clint's sickly begging and pleading. But then, the stupid archer would bat his _stupid_ eyelashes and give her those _stupid_ puppy dog eyes and say something along the lines of “But _Naaat_... I'd do it for _you_.” And she knew he would- Clint was just a good person like that- and so, like every other flu season, Natasha found herself giving in to Clint's whims.

This year, he was adamant about cough drops. But not just _any_ cough drop, no, Clint had to be emotionally invested in a cherry-flavored, half-lollipop, half-cough drop. Natasha didn't even believe they existed, but when Clint began bemoaning his existence and whining up a storm, Natasha had practically stormed out of the Tower to the nearest pharmacy just to get him to shut up.

Which was how Natasha found herself in this predicament, stalking up and down the flu and cold medicine isle at a 24-hour CVS. There were _too many cough-drops._ Natasha could never have dreamed the crazy flavors that lined the plastic shelves: everything from lemon-honey to lavender to cinnamon. She saw a few cherry-flavored lozanges, but none of the lollipop-style ones that Clint had begged for. Natasha was just about to give up, grab a random bag, and tell Clint to 'shove it' when an angry voice met her ears.

“Come on, kid,” a worker several isles over was speaking loud enough for Natasha to hear him clearly, “you've been walking around for at least a half-hour, and you look like you've been shooting up for days. Just _leave_ before I call the cops, okay?”

A frail cough met Natasha's ears, and she winced at the sound. It sounded like whatever kid was getting yelled at was terribly sick- his raspy breathing was obvious now, and Natasha wondered how she hadn't heard it earlier.

“'M not shootin' up...” the kid protested weakly. “'M just... just need some Advil or somethin'...”

“' _Or somethin'_ , hm?” the worker huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Look, kid, I dunno if you're sick or on something, but you need to just _leave_ , okay? I'm not selling you anything when you're obviously high.”

The boy's voice grew even more pained, and Natasha could hear the tears thick in his throat. “'M not _high_ ,” the boy insisted, “jus' _hurts_...”

“Okay, let's go-” the worker began, grabbing the teenager's bicep and gearing to drag him to the door.

Natasha sighed heavily, pressing her fingers to her temples. She didn't need to intervene. She _didn't_. The kid probably _was_ high from the way he had been slurring his words, but he had also said that something _hurt_... It wasn't like her to be so concerned about a complete stranger, but Natasha found herself stalking towards the sliding doors at the front of the store before she could stop herself.

And it was a good thing, too, because right as she rounded the corner of the flu and cold isle, she saw the skinny teenager lean forward and heave up bile on the worker's shoes.

“You _brat_ -!” the worker snarled, his grip tightening painfully on the kid's bicep. When Natasha saw the teen wince, tears coming to his eyes at the touch, she darted forward and ripped him away from the raving employee. “Is that your kid?!” he all but shouted at Natasha. “He just ruined my fucking shoes!”

“Be glad it was just your shoes that were ruined,” Natasha said lowly with a sharp glare.

The worker stammered a bit, clearly not expecting her response. “Are you _threatening_ me?!”

Natasha bared her teeth in a wicked smile. “No, not threatening. _Promising_.”

And then recognition lit up in the worker's eyes, and he went pale. “Y-You're the Black W-W-Widow!”

Natasha hummed, pulling the gagging teen in her hands closer to her chest. “Shouldn't you be getting back to work?” She tilted her head down towards the mess on the floor. “You've got clean-up on isle twelve.”

The worker huffed a bit, but a sharp glare from Natasha sent him rushing to the back room to grab some cleaning supplies.

Once she was convinced that the threat was neutralized, Natasha peered down at the kid in her arms. He looked to be about sixteen and skinny in stature, though the multitude of layers he was wearing hide his physique. From beyond a wool scarf pulled up to his chin and a beanie over his brows, Natasha could see cloudy brown eyes just under his glasses. From the way his pupils were dialated and his lips were tinged blue, Natasha knew that he must have been taking some kind of meds. That or he was in severe shock.

Instead of interrogating the boy about his probable drug-use, Natasha asked, “You said you were hurt?”

“Hmm...” the boy nodded sluggishly, gesturing to his side. Natasha waited for him to continue, but when he didn't, she sighed heavily.

“So you hurt your side?”

“Stabbed,” the teen nodded. Natasha's eyes went wide.

“You were _stabbed_?”

“ _Lightly_ stabbed,” the boy corrected her.

Natasha groaned, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. “You remind me of a friend of mine,” she told the teen. “Actually, you remind me of _several_ friends of mine...”

A sudden green tinge took over the boy's face, and Natasha quickly directed him to the nearest trash can so he could vomit. Barely anything came up besides saliva, and Natasha could feel the poor kid's whole body shaking under her hands. The whole idea of being 'lightly stabbed' was still on her mind though, so the woman reached for the hem of the many layers of shirts he wore. When the boy didn't flinch away- probably too lost in his pain-addled mind- Natasha folded up the fabric.

“Oh, kid...” she murmured. The boy heaved into the trash can again.

The boy's side had been covered haphazardly in gauze and scotch tape, barely managing to stick to his side with the blood that was culminating under and around the makeshift bandage. Natasha's fingertips gently probed around the injury, attempting to feel for any extensive internal damage. The boy whimpered, but didn't pull away from the heat of her hands. Natasha noted just how cold his skin felt.

“Did you take something for it?” Natasha prodded.

“S'me painkillers...” The boy's face clearly twisted up in thought. “Hy...Hydr...acode...”

“Hydrocodone?” Natasha huffed incredulously. “Kid, _how much_ did you take?”

“Few... of 'em...” the boy mumbled.

Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose, her hand still holding tight to the teenager's bicep. “Okay, let's get you to the hospital.”

And something that she said seemed to snap the kid back to reality for a second. “N-No h-hospitals,” he stumbled out even as Natasha was leading him out of the pharmacy and into the snowy night.

“Look, kid,” Natasha began to scold. “You can't just take however much of a perscription painkiller that you want and _not_ expect to end up in the hospital.”

“No hospit'l...” the boy nearly pouted. His puppy-dog expression was weakened when he stumbled over his own two feet and Natasha had to lunge to grab onto him.

“ _Yes_ hospital, kid.” As she steadied the teen, Natasha ran a hand through her hair. “What's your name anyways? I can't just sign you in as 'kid'.”

“Pet'r...” the boy mumbled, eyes still glazed as he looked up at her innocently. “Pet'r Park'r...”

_You have **got** to be kidding me._

Natasha groaned.

She had _definitely_ heard the kid's name before. The first time was when Clint mentioned dropping a couple of dollars on some poor child he had met at a coffee shop. The second was when Bruce told her he had met a genius child at his book-signing. It was only when Bucky and Steve overheard their conversation and mentioned meeting the boy too that Natasha _really_ got curious. After all, how much of a coincident could it really be that _four_ of her teammates had met one measly little old kid from Queens? So Natasha had started her own investigation. She didn't tell anyone, seeing as how they all seemed rather fond of the elusive Peter Parker. But Natasha had been raised a spy, and a good one at that. She collected the evidence and gathered any information she could on Peter, and after only a few day's time, she had found a tie between the orphaned kid Peter Parker and Queen's residential vigilante. It didn't take much to put the two-and-two together, and Natasha soon had the identity of Spider-man.

Despite any misgivings she may have had, she didn't inform Fury or the team of her findings. Spider-man stuck to petty crime for the most part, but he had pitched in to help the Avengers a handful of times when he was 'in the neighborhood'. Natasha had decided that, so long as the kid didn't cause any trouble, she would keep his identity a secret. It was after they fought the giant, man-eating wasps and Thor boasted about the 'Man of Spiders' being able to lift Mjolner that Natasha realized just how _good_ the kid was, for a lack of better words. Despite everything she had found in his past- the multitudes of deaths and years of abuse- this Peter Parker was still deemed worthy by some other-worldly powers.

Maybe it was that, or maybe it was the fact that the kid was just that- _a kid_ \- that reaffirmed Natasha's decision to keep Spider-man's identity a secret.

But now, with a half-conscious, drugged-up Peter Parker stumbling over himself in her arms, Natasha was beginning to regret that decision.

“Fine,” she sighed out, “no hospitals. _But_ -” she pointed her finger at Peter, the boy's eyes struggling to focus on the appendage, “-you are coming with me.”

“No... hosp'tal?” Peter slurred.

“No hospital,” Natasha reaffirmed. “But you _will_ be seeing a doctor. He's a friend of mine. He'll make sure you don't die or anything.”

As the unlikely duo stumbled back to Avenger's Tower, Natasha whipped out her phone with one hand and texted Bruce to meet her at the med-bay. _Dont tell any1 else_ , she typed out, _will explain l8r_. An afterthought flitted through Natasha's mind, and she also texted, _Dont let FRIDAY kno- she'll tell Tony._

Bruce's reply was short and sweet: _You okay?_

Natasha couldn't help but smirk. _Yea. Omw with a guest._

With every step they took closer to the Tower, Peter was growing groggier and groggier. Natasha was blatantly surprised that he had lasted as long as he had- she assumed it had something to do with his multitude of super-powers (having been that she hadn't discovered all of them just yet). Just as they passed the threshold to the lobby, Peter stumbled once more and slipped out of Natasha's arms.

“ _Peter_!” she exclaimed, pulling the teen's arm over her shoulders and dragging him to the elevator. “Come on, kid, just a few more minutes.”

Peter merely hummed in response.

When they got down to the med-bay, Bruce was waiting for them with an emergency med-kit splayed out over an exam table. When he saw the two staggering out of the elevator, Peter dead to the world and Natasha struggling under his weight, Bruce rushed forward and helped his teammate lift the boy onto a gurney.

“What happ- holy _crow_ , this is- _Peter_?”

“Bruce,” Natasha urged the doctor, squeezing his arm tightly. “He's got a stab-wound to his lower left abdomen and he's overdosed on hydrocodone.”

“R-Right,” Bruce stammered, shaking his head once before his impartial science-mind took over. “Here, grab that IV- we need to keep him hydrated. I've got some activated charcoal-”

“He's been like this for at least an hour,” Natasha informed Bruce as she set up the IV. When the needle entered Peter's arm, the boy didn't even wince. “And he's already vomited on the way here.”

Bruce hesitated a moment before nodding. “Okay. We'll need to pump his stomach, then.”

It was a nauseating process, watching Bruce ease the rubber tube down Peter's throat and into his stomach. When the salt solution began dripping into the boy's belly, making a sickening _slush_ ing noise, Natasha had to bite her tongue and look away.

About an hour after the drip had stopped and the vacuum was cleared, Peter's pale face started gaining a bit of color. Natasha was sitting by the boy's side, fighting the urge to run her fingers through his sweaty hair. Bruce had taken a blood-sample and was waiting on results, minding his time by writing furiously on a clip-board. Bruce didn't ask why Natasha had brought Peter to the Tower instead of a hospital- Bruce was good that way, being able to read the situation and act accordingly. Nobody really noticed it because of how often the doctor's curious mind won out over his discernment, but Natasha did.

Natasha noticed _everything_.

A loud _beep_ brought Natasha out of her ruminating, and she glanced over to where Bruce was staring at a hologram in front of him. His eyes went wide, his head tilting to the side. “What the hell...?”

“What is it?” Despite having seen Peter's body getting better, Natasha felt a wave of concern wash over her. “Is he okay? What-”

“No, no, he's going to be fine-” Bruce explained, pulling his glasses down to wipe them on his shirt. He placed them back on his nose and peered at the results again, as though searching for some hidden explanation. “I've never seen any kind of...” his voice trailed off, eyes flitting over to where Peter was resting on the bed, oblivious to the world. “I ran every test we have on Peter's blood, just to make sure I wasn't missing anything.” Bruce ran a hand through his hair as he looked at Natasha. “This kid's blood is _riddled_ with abnormalities. More so than Steve's and Bucky's.”

Something on Natasha's face must have given her away- and _damn_ she was going soft- because Bruce was suddenly glaring at her. “Nat...” he began slowly. “What do you know?”

Natasha looked down at Peter's sleeping face. His cheeks were turning pink again, his lips long since having left their blue tint behind to take on a pouty red. Natasha had removed his upper layers and beanie, leaving the teen in a simple t-shirt. His hair was matted to his head, but a few curls had managed to pop up and splay out over the white pillow behind him.

“He looks so innocent,” Natasha found herself whispering.

Bruce paused. “Well, he _is_ just a kid... A kid with crazy, super-human blood, but still a kid.” Bruce came to stand behind Natasha, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Nat, what is it?” When Natasha still hesitated, Bruce continued on, “I just want to make sure he gets the best care possible. Nothing you say will leave this room.”

“...He's Spider-man.”

Bruce's sigh was resigned, as though he was _expecting_ Natasha to say as much. “I had a feeling,” the doctor admitted. Going back over to the hologram with Peter's test results, Bruce rubbed at his chin. “I want to run some more tests- with his permission, of course. We don't _necessarily_ have to tell the others, but... Maybe it would be _good_ for them to know. Like I said, he's a _kid_ , and he's gonna need some back-up if he's running around in neon spandex every night.” Bruce shook his head. “I can't imagine his parents would be letting him out of the house to fight crime, so how-”

“He's an orphan,” Natasha interrupted Bruce's line of thinking. “He's been popping from foster home to foster home for the past two years- right around the time Spider-man was first spotted.”

Bruce hummed in thought. “You have a file on him, then?”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “I have a file on everyone.”

“Does SHIELD have a file on him?”

“...No.”

“Good. Let's keep it that way.” Bruce set about printing the results of Peter's blood test before completely wiping FRIDAY's system of them. “I trust our team, but I wouldn't trust Fury as far as I could throw him.”

Natasha smirked a bit. “Well, the Other Guy could probably throw him pretty far...”

“ _Nat_.”

Natasha grinned wickedly, and Bruce sighed once more. “I'm assuming you want to stay with him, then.” Natasha didn't have to nod. The only person that could read her better than Bruce was Clint. “Keep me updated. I'll keep my phone on, but for now, it's almost two AM and I need some sleep.”

As Bruce turned towards the elevator, Natasha turned in her seat and spouted out, “I couldn't find those cough-drop things for Clint. Could you let him know?”

Bruce chuffed out a laugh. “Clint fell asleep on the couch not even ten minutes after you left. Bucky carried him off to his room. I _doubt_ he's going to mind.”

“Still,” Natasha shrugged, smirking playfully. “It's the thought that counts, right?”

Bruce mumbled something about 'babying', but the fond smile on his face told Natasha that he thought the opposite. “Good night, Nat. _Keep me updated_ , okay?”

“Good night, Bruce,” Natasha murmured as the elevator doors closed before turning back to Peter's still form. She hesitated yet again, but- after reassuring herself that they were alone- Natasha raised her hand to card her fingers through the boy's sweaty hair.

Peter, even in his unconscious state, seemed to tilt into the touch. Natasha rolled her eyes, fighting back a smile.

She still hated January, but _maybe_...

“Rest up, Peter,” Natasha whispered to the boy as her fingers undid the tangles in his curly locks. “We have a _lot_ to talk about in the morning...”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading this far, and thank you to everyone who has inspired me to continue on with this series!! I know it's been literal years, but I'm very eager to continue if anyone is interested in me picking it back up?
> 
> Please submit any ideas/prompts you have for me!! I'm up for writing Rhodey, Vision, Wanda (I LOVE WANDA OMG) and-(((eventually)))- Tony. If you want to see any other Avengers that I've yet to mention, please let me know in the comments!!
> 
> ((BTW- those cherry lollipop/cough drops that Clint was begging for are a REAL THING that my mom gave me when I was little. Something about regular cough drops being a choking hazard? Anyways...)
> 
> ~Scotty


End file.
